


totus tuus

by bodtlings



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, M/M, i hope yall enjoy, i loved writing this, omg im excited, so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:59:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8990530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodtlings/pseuds/bodtlings
Summary: For Jean, finals week and studying for his British Literature final is nothing short of chaotic; he's crammed so much into his head he's pretty sure he's about to start speaking in Middle English at any second. Lucky for him, his ever-loving and ever-supporting boyfriend Marco drags him to Connie and Sasha's ugly sweater Christmas Party, where friends await and marshmallows are waiting to be launched.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kativelios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kativelios/gifts).



> merry christmas [kat](http://language-renard.tumblr.com), i was your JM secret santa!!! i hope u have an absolutely fantastic holiday season surrounded by loved ones and laughter; i'm sending my well wishes!
> 
> the title is latin for "totally yours" because i'm a cheeseball and this is kind of cheesy. i hope you enjoy ♡

Marco remembers hearing on the radio the day before that it would snow, and he’s pretty sure he remembers that they said a few inches. What he doesn’t remember is that the weatherman said it would start at four in the morning and last for the entire day, and it wouldn’t be a small dusting or a manageable three inches; no, it would wind up being nearly two feet.

He really wishes he had paid attention to the rest of the forecast as they kept an eye on this apparent incoming blizzard, but he supposes it doesn’t matter now. Inside of the coffee shop was warm, and even though he was only here to bring some comfort back to his boyfriend in the dorm down the block, the warmth was nice. There are three people in line ahead of him and Marco lets the heat from the radiators thaw out his ungloved fingers, angry red from the chill. His legs regain feeling and his neck begins to lose the stiffness it had acquired while trying to shield the lower half of his face in his scarf to hide from the wind. Marco lets out a relieved sigh and closes his eyes for a few moments while the customers in front of him order.

“Next! Hi sir, how can I help you?”

Marco opens his eyes and steps up to the counter with his usual smile, greeting the cashier and digging in his pants pocket for his wallet. “Hello! Can I please get a large coffee with milk and sugar, and a sprinkle of cinnamon, if you can?”

“Sure thing. Anything else?”

Briefly considering the state of his numb fingers, Marco chuckles and adds, “Actually, a medium hot chocolate would be nice too, please.” The cashier punches in his order and Marco pays before moving off to the side to wait for his drinks. In preparation of going back outside, Marco wraps his scarf around as much of his face as he can while still allowing himself to breathe and hunches his shoulders a bit to prepare for the onslaught of cold.

 

* * *

 

Jean’s right leg has been furiously bouncing beneath the desk for the better part of an hour now. His glasses keep slipping down the bridge of his nose and he repeatedly has to push them back up with his middle finger, only for them to rebel against his wishes of remaining in place and falling back down again. Jean’s lower lip has begun to split with how hard he’s been subconsciously biting it, and if he looked up from his notes for more than three milliseconds, he’d notice that his hair is in all forms of disarray from running his hands through it too many times. However, Jean barely registers any of this; he’s been studying for his british literature final for seven hours straight and counting. He woke up that morning at around eleven, showered, wolfed down a bagel with cream cheese and jelly, and fell into his desk chair with piles of notes and books littered all over the bed and desk. On top of furiously writing notes of outlines for the entirety of the _Canterbury Tales, Paradise Lost,_ and _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,_ Jean’s been making flashcards for the three different types of sonnets, dates of publication, even the difference between Horatian and Pindaric odes and John Donne’s Holy Sonnets. Needless to say, his final is cumulative; Jean’s come to the conclusion that his professor is a sad and cold-hearted old man who shouldn’t be teaching because he uses torture methods such as this on his students. He’s convinced his professor’s reasons include deriving some semblance of joy during the holidays through the tears of his students.

Jean is so far into _The Faerie Queene_ and outlining the Redcrosse Knight’s character that he doesn’t hear the front door to his dorm opening, or the “Jean?” that follows. He does not hear their bedroom door closing and he does not hear the crinkling of a jacket being hung on the hook on the back of the door, either. Jean nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a hand on his shoulder the temperature of their freezer; he turns around at lightning speed, and in his haste, his knee hits the underside of his desk and some of his papers go flying. Jean bites his lip to keep from cursing and clutches his knee, leaning his forehead on the desk.

“Jean, oh my God, are you okay?”

“M’fine, ow. Shit’s gonna bruise tomorrow, but whatever. Where’d you go, why are your hands so cold? I didn’t even hear you leave."

Marco chuckles and walks to Jean’s side of the room to put down the large cup. “I went to go get you coffee. I had to run to the Psychology building to drop off my last paper and I thought it would help if you had something to fuel and warm you.”

Jean picks his head up from the desk, glasses crookedly sitting on the end of his nose, his hair in thousands of different directions, and shoots his boyfriend a smile warmer than any coffee could ever be. “You’re too good, Marco Bodt.”

“And you’re too absorbed in all that. Have you taken a break at all today?”

“Ugh, no. Pfeiffer is going to have my ass if I don’t get at least a 90 on this final.”

Marco sets his hot chocolate on the desk and leans down to unlace his snow boots. “You also still have two whole days to study and you’ve been at it nonstop today. I say enough; pick it back up tomorrow.”

“These outlines are not writing themselves though, and I still have to make flashcards for Beowulf on top of --”

“Nooooooooooooooo.” Marco shoves his boots off and puts them in the closet, walking towards Jean and putting his hand over Jean’s mouth. “I don’t want to hear it, you’re done. Plus we have Connie and Sasha’s Christmas party in a little over an hour and we’re not missing it.”

Jean mumbles a “Fiiiiiine” behind Marco’s hand and pouts when his mouth is free from captivity. Taking his glasses off and rubbing at his eyes, Jean sighs and digs his knuckles into them until he sees spots and feels relief. “Are they doing that tacky sweater challenge thing again like they did last year?”

Marco strides back to his side of the room and opens his closet, pulling out two sweaters on hangers with a wide grin on his face. “Yes, and as a surprise gift, I bought us matching ones.”

Jean just groans and leans his head back on the chair to look, upside-down, at the selection of dress for the evening. “I hate you.”

After gingerly hanging the sweaters back up in the closet, Marco walks over to Jean’s desk and places his now-warm hands on both of Jean’s cheeks. Jean sighs at the contact, closing his eyes and tilting his head to the side. With his thumbs gently moving over his boyfriend’s cheeks, Marco leans down and kisses him with all the tenderness of the softly-falling snow outside their room.

“You love me.”

Jean opens his eyes and closes them again. “I do.”

 

* * *

 

“Must I wear this. Marco...must I _really,_ really wear this?” Jean, with his arms out and wearing a look of sheer bewilderment, spins around the center of their bedroom and stares at the center of his sweater. The sweater is green to match Marco’s red, and in the middle, Rudolph’s huge face has his red nose with antlers that have colored Christmas lights twined around them. A small speech bubble next to Rudolph says “Squeeze me for cheer!” which Jean is reluctant to do, but Marco makes the decision for him and squeezes the nose. From somewhere within the sweater, the lights on Rudolph’s antlers begin to light up and Christmas music starts to play.

Jean drops his arms and gives his beloved a deadpan expression. “Are you serious?” His response to the tacky sweater with lights and songs comes out of his mouth much like his face, and, lacking every ounce of enthusiasm, asks again when no reply comes, “Are you _serious?_ ”

Marco is just beaming, because not only is the sweater ugly, Jean is cute. Jean is a cute guy in an ugly (matching) sweater and that’s his boyfriend of already five years and he loves him. He quickly pulls his shirt up and over and heads to his closet for the matching red one. Marco slips it over his head and shoves his arms into both sides. Once situated, Marco squeezes the nose of Rudolph on his own sweater and watches it light up and sing along. He looks back at Jean with all the enthusiasm Jean couldn’t fathom having in this type of situation and shines like the star on top of the Christmas tree, biting his lip to keep from smiling too hard, lest his cheeks begin to hurt. “Dead serious.”

Rolling his eyes with a groan, Jean drags his hands down his face and shakes his head. “You’re so lucky I love you. I would ne —”

“Never do this for anyone else. Yes, sweetheart, I know.”

“Okay good, because I wouldn’t. Ever. In a million years, Marco.”

Marco drinks the rest of his hot chocolate and throws it into the trash with Jean’s long-finished coffee cup. “I love you too. Put your shoes on, it’s time to go.”

“They better not laugh or I’ll kill them.”

“Yes yes, we know. Oh grab your scarf and gloves too, it’s really cold.”

Jean crosses the room and loops his scarf around his neck, finagles his gloves onto his fingers, and tosses Marco his own pair as well. “Put yours on too. No way are your hands ever going to be that cold again, Jesus Christ.”

“Ah, thank you! Yeah I totally forgot to wear them earlier, whoops. I was convinced I’d lose my fingers.”

With his boots laced, coat zipped, and scarf fluffed for extra warmth, Jean nuzzles his face into the scarf and shoves his hands in his coat pockets. “Or become a white walker. Don’t lose your fingers, you need those.”

After Marco has his winter gear all situated, Jean turns off their bedroom light and escorts them out of their dorm suite to brace the winter chill.

“We’re off to see the wizards, the wonderful wizards of Shiganshina.”

Marco laughs and holds on to Jean’s arm in preparation for definite icy steps and sidewalks, and together, they walk out of their dorm and across campus to Connie and Sasha’s apartment.  

“I wonder if Connie still has his marshmallow gun,” Jean wonders aloud to himself.

Marco rolls his eyes and chuckles at images of last year’s Christmas, of Ymir chasing Connie around the apartment building with a candy cane sharpened to the tip like the point of a knife while Connie had his marshmallow gun. They were howling battle cries of Christmas war and lunacy, and Sasha ambushed Connie in the stairwell with a trap of tinsel and tangled Christmas lights. “Either way,” Marco replies, “Sasha still has that bundle of lights we could never untangle, so if anything, she can always trap him in it again.”

Jean tugs Marco to him as they step over an icy patch of pavement, laughing into his scarf. “You’re right. It took him three hours to get out of that. Oh man, what a loser.”

Marco agrees and leans his arm on Jean’s shoulder for a moment and continues walking. The looming lamps outside are twined in white lights and wreaths are covered in snow, and it creates a rare scenic picture of their university’s campus. Marco smiles at the paper snowflakes hanging in dorm windows they pass along the way and at the sound of Christmas carols coming from somewhere down the street. There’s still patches of beautifully untouched snow, the kind that makes Marco want to run right through it and be the first one to destroy the neatness, and he clutches Jean’s arm tighter still. He plants a kiss on Jean’s shoulder, to which Jean returns with a kiss to Marco’s frozen right cheek, and together, they move through winter wonderland to the party.

 

* * *

 

Before Jean can even text to say they’re here, Sasha comes downstairs to open the locked door of the building for Jean and Marco when they arrive, and flings the door open with urgency. Sasha, one hand on the frame and the other on her hip, yells with a mix of excitement and annoyance, “You made it! You’re also _late._ We thought you guys had _died_ on the battlefield of main campus, we were so worried!”

Marco relinquishes his hold on Jean’s arm and surges forward to hug Sasha just as tight. “Sorry, sorry. Jean was studying for Brit Lit and getting him into the sweater proved more difficult than I thought.”

“Ugh whatever, just get inside before you turn to gaysicles.”

Jean raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “ _What_ did you just call us?”

With a challenging smirk and a mimic of stance, Sasha squares her shoulders. “Gaysicles. Gay icicles, genius.”

He thinks about it for a second, making sure to look pensive, before nodding his head and shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Marco laughs and tugs Jean inside. “Hurry up and shut the door, it’s cold.”

Jean walks through the basement of the building with Sasha and Marco to the elevator, shaking his hair free of snowflakes. Sasha juts her arm into his ribs as they get inside the elevator and head upstairs, and says, “Yanno, for an English major you sure are weak on the puns.”

“I’ve been stuffing my skull all night with John Donne and two dialects of Middle English, I don’t want to hear it.”

“All night?” Sasha puts her fingers to her chin and looks up, as if the roof of the elevator is particularly entrancing. “But Jean, it’s only nine o’clock. How could you be studying _all night_ if it’s only nine? Please, for your own good, go back to elementary school and learn how to tell time.”

Jean leans on the side closest to him. “Please don’t make me commit murder before we get to your room. I’d rather not have to drag your body back, you’re too heavy.”

“Hey!”

“All right, children,” Marco interjects, and twines his now ungloved hand with Jean’s also ungloved fingers. “Sash, does Connie still have that marshmallow gun?”

Sasha doesn’t answer, and instead shoots Marco a telling grin over her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Connie does, in fact, still have the marshmallow gun. Marco and Jean would know, since he blasted them with jumbo marshmallows as soon as Sasha got the key in the door and let them in. Of course, this resulted in an immediate wrestling match between Jean and his best friend, which ended as soon as Connie’s elbow smacked into the doorframe. Wanting no more holiday bruises, Sasha picked Connie up and deposited him on the couch in the living room. Marco wiped Jean’s frown away with a kiss and pulled them away from the doorway.

Sasha and Connie aren’t religious, but Christmas to them is something to be celebrated, simply because they can and they love the atmosphere Christmas brings with it. Christmas in their friend ground means spiked eggnog, a super pretty and overly-decorated tree, lots of cheesy lights and paper snowflakes, and family, because friends, to them, are always family. In the true spirit, their entire dorm room has colored lights hanging all around the ceilings and the tree in the corner reaches the ceiling, packed with tinsel, ornaments, and presents beneath. On the table between the couches, drinks and snacks and festive plates are neatly arranged for consumption, and three big jugs of eggnog sit next to a variety of bottles of rum and a small container of cinnamon.

Everyone yells, “Ayooooooo!” when they see Jean and Marco come in, and Marco can’t help but laugh, partly because of the hideous sweaters everyone is wearing, and partly because he’s so happy to see them all. Krista is sitting in Ymir’s lap on the couch next to Mikasa, Eren and Armin are snuggled together on the loveseat, and Annie is helping Reiner and Bertl with a large tray of sandwiches they’re trying to arrange on a platter in the kitchen. There is some absolutely awful techno version of Jingle Bells playing on Connie’s old speakers, and the marshmallow gun continues to make contact with unsuspecting but cheerful victims.

Marco and Jean wave hello to everyone and make their way — without stepping on anyone — to the bedroom to discard their jackets and winter accessories. Marco makes sure to stuff their scarves into their respective coat sleeves and gloves into pockets so they don’t lose them, and together they travel back to the crowd.

“Dude no _way_ are those your sweaters,” Eren yells from the loveseat, and everyone turns to see if they’ve been out-uglied in the sweater choice for the season. Ymir howls out an “Oh my _God_ ” and Connie snorts from next to the tree.

“But wait, they get better,” Marco promises, and he squeezes the nose of Rudolph on his sweater with the nose on Jean’s sweater, and they light up and sing in sync. The lights on Rudolph’s antlers blink and Jingle Bell Rock starts to play. A chorus of laughter and disbelief rings throughout the group of students and Marco swells with pride at knowing he made a good choice in picking them this year.

“Alright alright, relax,” Jean pleads nonchalantly. He goes for the eggnog and pours himself a huge glass with a splash of rum and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Marco laughs into his hand and pats Jean’s arm.

 

* * *

 

After Jean and Marco get settled in with eggnog and their bodies thaw out from the cold, everyone catches up with each other; talk of finals, of studying, of all-nighters spent in the back corner of the library and that one guy they saw in the dining hall wearing a dinosaur onesie. Armin and Sasha share study tips for psychology while Jean and Krista swap facts about British Literature to refresh themselves for their final (“Well we know Caedmon’s Hymn was written in 731” “No no, it was _published_ in 731, it was written around 688” “Oh yeah, right! And it was published in —” “Bede’s _Ecclesiasticall Historie”_ “I hate this class”). Marco digs into a cold cut slice of the hero sandwich Connie and Sasha bought while listening to Ymir’s plans to study abroad for winter break in Iceland. Reiner, Bertl, and Annie are playing Mario Kart on the living room TV, and shouts of Reiner’s loss can probably be heard down the hallway (“Annie you can’t just _blue shell one of your boyfriends”_ “You’re lucky I didn’t do it to both of you” “Wow, okay, we’re breaking up. Right Bertl?” “It wasn’t me she blue-shelled, keep me out of it”).

This scene carries on for some time until Connie pauses the music and shouts out a very loud, “Hey you idiots!” Everyone stops mid-sentence and mid Mario race to turn their attention to the shorty making his way to the tree. “It’s present time! Gather around, one and all, to receive bountiful love through material goods!”

“Connie, can’t you just say it’s time to open presents?” Eren asks from across the room.

“No, my dear Jaegermeister, because that would be fucking boring, and I am not about that life.”

“Oh true.”

Sasha heads over to her boyfriend and starts grabbing presents under the tree. “You heard the man, come on over! And Annie don’t save your game under my name, I have a high score at killing Connie on that one! Make your own profile.”

“Got it,” Annie confirms, and saves the game under “trio of doom” before mingling with the rest of the group for presents.

Everyone, weeks earlier, had organized group present-giving, in that secret santa was established, names were picked, and gifts were bought. They usually set a max of thirty dollars for gifts, but sometimes they all go over and sometimes they don’t (like the one year Ymir got Sasha and, as a joke, bought her a pencil. Her real present was a gorgeous sweater Ymir knitted themselves for Sasha, but the pencil, even as a gag gift, will never be topped).

Sasha and Connie dig through the piles, calling out names and throwing the presents to their respective recipients. Connie almost threw Armin’s present into an open glass of rum but missed it by a margin, thankfully. It was like roll call, and every time names were called, hollers and noises and shouts were given in response from the receiver and from everyone else. It was a scene you couldn’t be a part of and _not_ smile so much your face hurt, and if you looked at everyone later on, you’d see some rubbing their cheeks and some clutching their stomachs in laughter. It was a picture-perfect night well-spent, and one nobody wanted to leave.

 

* * *

 

After presents were opened and hugs were given to say thank you all around the room, Marco quietly pulled Jean out onto the balcony. The curtains were closed inside the apartment to keep the decorations in place, so the only light surrounding them outside were more colored christmas lights Sasha had strung up around the door of the balcony and the concrete ledge itself. Without their jackets, Jean stands shivering with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets and Marco rapidly runs his hands over his arms to generate some type of temporary heat.

“It’s cold, Marco. Let me go inside and get our coats if you wanna sit out here, no?”

Marco shakes his head at Jean’s suggestion and gives him a pleading look. “I don’t wanna be out here long, it’ll just be a second, okay?” Jean nods and shuffles closer to Marco so that the tips of their boots are touching.

Marco takes a deep breath and lets it out, forcing himself to forget the chill, and steps into the corner of the balcony totally enclosed in darkness. “I didn’t want you to see it under the tree, and I know we said no gifts this year because of secret santa again, but I couldn’t help it.” He steps back into the glow of the colored Christmas lights and holds out a present to Jean covered in silver wrapping paper with red and gold ornaments on it. “Merry Christmas, Jean.”

Wide-eyed, Jean looks down to the package and back to his smiling boyfriend, and with a face like that, he couldn’t be mad. He does, however, let out a low whine and bumps his forehead on Marco’s. “You didn’t have to do that. We said we wouldn’t, you jerk.”

“Yeah, well.”

Jean removes his hands from his pockets and takes the present with shivering fingers. He opens the gift along the seams where Marco had taped them down and removes the wrapping paper to find a beautiful leather-bound journal beneath. It’s dark brown, with _J.K._ engraved on the front in stunning calligraphy with a gold clasp holding the pages shut inside. “Open it,” Marco whispers, and Jean looks up at him to see Marco nod. Icy fingers undo the lock, and Jean opens it to the first page, where Marco has written something small:

_Jean,_

_Don’t yell at me for getting you this, but as soon as I saw it I knew it had to be yours; you can’t keep writing on napkins and random papers, you’ll lose all your works like that! So use this for all your musings, all your creations, and all your words you can never say. Write them here and keep them_ — _if not in the mind, in ink. Merry Christmas, wordsmith. I love you._

_Yours always,_

_Marco_

Jean closes the journal, locks the clasp, and sets the book on the edge of the balcony. He turns back to Marco and, not caring about the state of cold his hands are in, holds Marco’s face and kisses him with all the sincerity of the heart. Marco feels Jean smile against his lips, and he closes his eyes and follows suit, wrapping his arms around Jean’s waist.

They pull apart and Jean kisses Marco’s nose. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Do you like it?”

Jean sets his forehead on Marco’s and closes his eyes. “I love it. Thank you.”

They stand there like that for a moment, not wanting to let go despite the cold, and when Marco feels something on his cheek, he pulls his face away and looks out over the balcony. The Christmas lights provide just enough illumination for them to see it’s begun to snow again, but not like the heavy blizzard of before. The snow falls with leisure, softly descending to the ground. No wind can be found or felt, and the falling snow kindles comfort and contentment within their small shared space. Marco tilts his head up to watch it fall, but instead, his eyes find a mistletoe hung right over their heads from the bottom of the balcony of a floor up from Connie and Sasha’s. He begins to laugh, which makes Jean curious. Jean follows Marco’s gaze upwards and sees the little fake leaves and holly dangling above them and joins in the laughter.

“Well, I _guess_ I’ll kiss you,” Jean chuckles.

“Oh you _guess._ I _guess,_ I’ll just bring back your journal, then.”

“No don’t. It has my initials on it, it’s officially, one-hundred percent, only mine.”

Marco hums. “Just like me, right? Officially, one-hundred percent, only yours?”

Jean smiles and shuffles closer to Marco, a smile on the corners of his lips and a surefire look of affirmation in his eyes. “Of course.”

Giggling with a love-struck awe that has not — and never will — fade, Jean slides his hands up Marco’s jaw and runs his thumbs across Marco’s cheeks, as he meets Marco’s lips where they’d been reaching for him. They close their eyes and create their own bubble of warmth while the snow falls next to them, and Marco doesn’t care if they freeze like this: if they do, so be it.

They pull apart and kiss again, much softer, much shorter, much fuller.

Jean whispers against Marco’s lips, “Merry Christmas, Marco,” to which Marco kisses him again and whispers back.

“Merry Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! briefly:
> 
> \- that dude in a dinosaur onesie is real; i met him at one of my own campus dining halls and he was hilarious. i loved his onesie, it looked like a lime green godzilla.  
> \- british literature is torturous and my final was also cumulative. hang in there jean, john donne isn't so bad (kind of).  
> \- ugly christmas sweaters are my favorite thing and jean looks super cute in one. marco confirmed.
> 
> happy holidays, everyone! i wish you all the best ♡
> 
> u can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hajimetxt) and [tumblr](http://bodtlings.tumblr.com) !


End file.
